


the blue-eyed morn (in modest grace)

by coconutcluster



Series: Kingdom Come [1]
Category: Sanders Sides (Web Series)
Genre: AU, M/M, and Subtle Promises to Meet Again, and flirting, kingdom au, let's just call it a kingdom au, roman's a royal messenger passing through the mountains where virgil's family owns a farm, there is banter, what kind of au? good question, what more could one want
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-12
Updated: 2019-11-12
Packaged: 2021-01-29 01:27:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,377
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21401884
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/coconutcluster/pseuds/coconutcluster
Summary: roman is a royal messenger passing through the mountains to return home after a journey, and he runs into an odd (and charmingly cynical) stranger on the way.
Relationships: Anxiety | Virgil Sanders/Creativity | Roman "Princey" Sanders, Prinxiety
Series: Kingdom Come [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1570612
Comments: 13
Kudos: 187





	the blue-eyed morn (in modest grace)

**Author's Note:**

> hey i've been gone for a while! i haven't had much time or motivation to write an actual story as of late, but i'm glad to have this one and to have had so much fun with it!!! (you can always pop on over to @coconut-cluster on tumblr if you wanna read some headcanons and different au's whenever i disappear for a while!)  
enjoy <33

If Roman was tired of uphill climbs, freezing rain, and the meager promise of cold dinner and a stiff mattress upon his return home, the sunrise made every ounce of exhaustion worth it. 

Spring had just begun to bud as he found himself nearly done with another journey. Wildflowers in pastel shades dotted the path he traveled, trees had donned their leaves once more, and though a chill hung in the air still, the dreary gray clouds had parted; the sky was revealed in their absence like a long awaited gift, and it was one Roman appreciated dearly. The sun had yet to rise fully over the mountain peaks in the distance, draping the landscape instead in an anticipatory purple hue, and gold melded with pink and blue behind thin, stretching clouds that looked as if someone had taken a paint brush and laid strokes across a canvas with lazy confidence. As he stared into the colorful reflection it all left in the pond he’d come to rest his horse by, Roman knew he’d get no such morning view from his room in the castle, so he savored every minute of it now. 

He did wish, briefly and with a rather suppressed pang of longing, to remain by the pondside forever, or at least longer than he knew he could, rather than return to his bedroom in the windowless servants’ quarters - but that kind of wish was futile (as he well knew), so he dutifully pushed it down. It didn’t stop a sigh from escaping regardless. 

Another part of him was simply reluctant for the journey to end. Despite the rainy weather that had lasted nearly a week - winter’s last testament to its treacherous run - and the stiff, forgettable formalities of delivering whatever message he’d been sent out for, he’d enjoyed his traveling. He always brought just enough money with him, what little expendable change he could scrounge up, to buy a memento from some village or wandering trader he passed on the way to or from his destination; this particular journey heralded a small straw doll with a tiny red scarf draped from its shoulder to the opposite hip, an endearing recreation of his uniform’s sash, traded by a young girl who beamed at him with a missing tooth when Roman dramatically kneeled before her to offer his coins. Beyond that, the feelings of traveling he loved so dearly - the brush of wind in his hair, the smell of flowers or rain or pine, the lightness in his chest as he rode through the forests and plains - seemed to escape him as soon as he arrived at the castle. He’d surely be sent out again within a month of returning, but the experience was an ephemeral one, and it always ended too coldly. 

His friend’s voice, a conversation of theirs, suddenly echoed in his head as he sat frowning to himself by the pond: _ You’re far too sentimental, _ his friend would say in that bookish tone, brows furrowed above his glasses. _ Just do your job, return, and repeat. Why invest any emotion into it? _

(Roman usually just shrugged at that point in the conversation, offering an easy half-smile in place of an answer; Logan would sigh and return to whatever cartography project he had strewn across his desk for the day, and that was that. Roman didn’t know how to tell him that he couldn’t help sentimentality. He felt trapped in the gilded walls of the castle, and the journeys gave his heart a chance to soar in the open air - how could it stay obedient like that?)

His horse made a disgruntled noise from behind him suddenly. He paid little mind to it - Fleance was as dramatic as his owner, and he seemed to find amusement in getting Roman worked up about him - and instead leaned his head back, closing his eyes to breathe in the morning air with all his focus. The chill stung the inside of his nose as he inhaled; he imagined it traveling up, up, up, filling his brain with its prickly lightness and blocking the dull routine engraved in his mind. If he breathed deep enough, maybe that part would disappear completely and he’d roam carelessly here forever. He could dream. 

“You’re blocking the katniss.”

His eyes sprang back open instantly as he jumped at the voice, narrowly avoiding falling into the pond. He made a mental note to listen to Fleance a little more and promptly whipped around to face the deadpan voice. 

The boy standing just behind him was tall, or at least he seemed it from Roman’s view from the ground, long legs and lanky figure draped in dark pants and an old purple shirt rolled up to his elbows. All his features seemed dark, Roman realized as their eyes met: dark hair that fell onto his forehead in feathery bangs, dark, hooded eyes, even his face was dark with a scowl, suspicion and annoyance knit into his furrowed brow. He frowned down at Roman as the messenger just stared at him. 

“I really need that plant,” the boy said after another moment of silence, and Roman finally snapped out of his stupor. He shuffled to the side, picking himself up off the ground and dusting nonexistent dirt from his uniform as the boy knelt down to pick a pretty white flower growing on the bank of the pond. 

“Sorry about that,” Roman offered, though the boy didn’t even spare him a glance until he was done uprooting the flowers, which took a good few minutes. “It’s nice to see someone else up with the sunrise,” he tried again. Nothing. Those dark eyes stayed focused on the pond, grazing its surface for something more. “What are those for, anyway?” 

Finally, the boy looked up at him - their position had changed, Roman noted with an odd triumphance, with him now standing tall, though he felt remarkably more inapposite than the boy had seemed in his place a few moments ago - and blinked. 

“To feed my family.” His voice was still toneless, but his mouth quirked into the tiniest smirk as Roman gave a rathered delayed, silent ‘Oh.’ 

The smirk disappeared when Roman asked slowly, “...But it’s a plant.”

There was a beat of silence, and then the boy burst out laughing. 

It was a nice sound, even if Roman’s cheeks flushed a bright red because this boy he didn’t know was laughing at him. Those dark features lit up with his smile, displaying a row of perfect teeth and dimples whittled into his cheeks; Roman would even call him cute if he wasn’t _ still _laughing. 

“A plant-” the boy repeated in between wheezes, “What, have you never had a _ vegetable _before?”

Roman gave an indignant stutter. “I meant- it’s a flower, that’s all!” The boy’s laughter faded a little, but the amusement clearly remained as he shook his head to himself, and Roman felt the sudden and overwhelming urge to prove himself to this random gatherer with the cute smile. “I know vegetables- oh, would you stop? I know vegetables are plants, you prat.” 

The boy looked up at him once more, half a grin still on his face and one dark eyebrow raised. “Whatever you say.” 

He stood at last, tossing the katniss a few feet away, into a woven basket Roman hadn’t noticed before, and turning back to the pouting messenger with his arms crossed. They were roughly the same height, though Roman found himself straightening his spine further as the boy’s eyes flickered from his head to his toes and back again, then briefly to Fleance and the deep red blanket draped over his back, a single eyebrow still arched. “So what’s royalty doing out here at this time of day?” he asked finally, a sudden shadow of distaste coloring his tone.

Roman’s posture fumbled at the assumption.His uniform was nice, he supposed, but it was nothing noble compared to the prince’s garb, and though Fleance’s blanket had the royal insignia, even that was faded from years of handing-over and use without care. Roman knew then that he could lie, weave a story of his crown rights and powerful reign - the boy clearly wouldn’t know any better - but then those sharp eyes narrowed at him, so he sighed and resigned himself the boring truth. “Just a servant, I’m afraid.”

That, apparently, was a far better answer than any lie Roman could act out. The boy’s disdain fizzled away in an instant, brows quirking up as a small smile crossed his lips and the delight in his face returned. “Don’t be,” he said after a moment. “That makes you much more interesting.” 

Maybe it was the way the boy’s gaze melted from sharp to sparkling so quickly, or the way his eyes flickered over Roman once more, reevaluating now that he had this important piece of information, or the fact that Roman finally noticed the lazy assuredness infused into the boy’s stature, as if he knew he had a sort of high ground in the conversation - or maybe it was all three in some damning concoction - but Roman’s cheeks flushed a brilliant pink all over again. 

“So, what is a _ servant _doing out here at this time of day?” the boy corrected with a playful jab to his words. 

Roman cleared his throat and hoped the blush wasn’t as noticeable as it felt. “Delivering a message between kingdoms,” he said, gesturing to the small pouch on the ground beside his horse. Bitterness seeped into his tone before he thought to contain it. “Some falsely cordial correspondence to Aedora, the usual.”

The boy’s eyes lit up with amusement, then he squinted, a crooked half-smile crawling onto his face. “Is that so?” Roman gave a halfhearted shrug, and the boy seemed to consider him for another moment. “Does the royal family suck as much as it seems like they do?”

And that’s not at all what Roman was expecting. Granted, most citizens of the kingdom had some level of contempt for the family - the king especially - but they usually kept it hushed, reserved for scowls from the dirt-strewn streets below the castle or complaints between family and friends over dinner; to hear it expressed so clear, so casually, shocked him into a moment of silence. The boy didn’t seem wary at all, especially when Roman diverted his gaze to the shadow of the castle in the far distance and gave a noncommittal noise in the back of his throat. 

“I’m sure there are responsibilities and tribulations we aren’t privy to,” the messenger said at last, his tone unconvincing in its strain. 

The boy nodded, his smile far too knowing. “So they suck.”

“I didn’t say that,” Roman stressed. “I did not say that because that’s treason and I am not a traitor.”

Those dark eyes narrowed as the boy raised an eyebrow, which he seemed to do often, and tilted his head to the side, waiting. “But?” 

Roman glanced at the silhouette of the castle again. “...But I won’t disagree with you.” 

The boy, thankfully, seemed satisfied at having his thoughts confirmed, and nodded to himself without pressing the topic further. It was Roman’s turn to turn a questioning eye on him. “What are _ you _doing out here so early?”

He glanced up, then looked between the pond and woven basket a few feet away, before looking back at Roman. “What does it look like?”

Roman rolled his eyes. “Are you always sarcastic, or do you just not like me?”

“Oh, believe me, it’s not reserved for you,” the boy assured him, almost proudly, “but I _ am _liking how much it annoys you.” Before Roman could offer response or blush to that, the boy nodded toward the trees staggered up the mountain side and said, “My family has a farm up there. I’m not sure how servant life at the castle works,” he reached out and poked Roman’s chest as he spoke, and Roman had plenty of time to blush then, “but here, we’re always up this early. Even if my sleep schedule makes it a living nightmare.” 

He had an odd way of speaking, with that gravelly tone of his, in that his mouth moved very little, and Roman found his gaze flickering to the boy’s lips more than once as he explained the mountaintop farm. He didn’t realize how obvious it was until the boy’s voice faded midsentence; Roman snapped back to attention to find a quizzical smirk on his face, and he realized in an instant that he was very, utterly screwed.

“Well,” the boy started slowly, that small smile still on his face, before Roman could start stammering, “my family is probably wondering where their flowers are. I’m sure you’re expected somewhere, too.”

Disappointment welled in Roman’s chest immediately. “Oh, I…suppose you’re right.” He straightened up, not bothering to smother his frown, and gave the boy a curt nod. “May your day be prosperous, uh…”

“Virgil.”

“Virgil,” he repeated, an excellent thrill accompanying the name as he spoke it aloud. "I'm Roman." He cleared his throat, taking Fleance’s reins in his hand and tugging her to stand, offering Virgil one last nod. “Right. Goodbye, Virgil.”

He’d just begun to right Fleance’s blanket for him to mount when Virgil called out behind him, “How often do you pass through the mountains, Roman?”

He turned back, eyes wide and owlish. That smirk still covered Virgil’s face, and Roman felt the thrill course through him again as he comprehended the question. “As often as a delivery demands it,” he said slowly, the corners of his mouth tugging at a smile. “But if it suits me, I might find my way here more often than that.” 

Virgil watched him for a moment, nodding ever so slightly. Finally, eyes sparkling, he gave an exaggerated bow that made Roman laugh, then said, “Have a safe journey.” He winked, grabbed his basket, and left. 

Roman sat staring after him for a few minutes, even when he disappeared into the trees. A funny fluttering filled the messenger’s chest; he spurred Fleance on at last, starting the last stretch of his travel home, but the flutter didn’t disappear. 

He had a feeling it wouldn’t be gone for a long, long while. 


End file.
